


You Whose Heart Would Sing in Anarchy

by DriedFlowers



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Cause it feels good dw, Crying During Sex, Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Ending, Kinda?, Light Bondage, Light Impact Play, Lingerie, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Power Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Riding, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Eskel (The Witcher), Top Eskel (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DriedFlowers/pseuds/DriedFlowers
Summary: And the sigh he lets leak out of him is a mixture of want for Jaskier’s skin as much as it is a want for Jaskier’s soul. The kiss isn't particularly deep or long, but Jaskier nips at his bottom lip as he pulls back. He presses one more chaste kiss to the abused flesh. Eskel isn't sure if it's an apology or satisfied pride.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	You Whose Heart Would Sing in Anarchy

The black lace is pulled tight against Jaskier’s pale skin, such a gorgeous contrast that his fingers itch to trace over the edges of the teddy suit biting into soft, pliable skin. He must twitch, because Jaskier’s long fingers tighten over his wrists, nails biting half crescent moon marks that’ll add to the proof of their coupling.

  
“Now, now, my dear. You know better than that,” his teasing lilt rips a frustrated groan from Eskel, much too easily if he’s entirely honest.

“I’m the one that fucking bought the damn thing.” He growls back, tension seeping into his tone and making the words lash in a way he hadn’t expected them to. If the darkening of Jaskier’s gaze is anything to go by, neither did he.

Jaskier bares his teeth in such a wolfish style the act makes something warm and proud settle in Eskel’s chest. Lithe and pale and so, so soft, but the toughest son of a bitch this side of the continent. As proud as it makes him, it also pulls at a deeper, more primal part of him. It doesn't help that the tangy cinnamon-cayenne scent of Jaskier’s arousal was so damn thick in the air he felt he was choking on it.

“It’s mine now, is it not? A gift. That means I can do with it as I damn well please.”

Eskel isn't sure he’s just talking about the lingerie, at this point.

He doesn’t snap back at him again. Instead settling further back into the plush sheets and trying to hold back his goans at the tightening of Jaskier’s thighs around his hips. He feels stretched out, a feast set to be devoured. What with Jaskier’s capture of his hands pulled taut above his head and body firmly pinned by his own, it doesn't take long for to feel the thickening of Eskel’s cock against his leg.

Jaskier says nothing. Which, via experience, is something to be quite worried about. Instead he feels his response to Eskel’s involuntary expression of interest in the wet fabric between his thighs grinding into the fat of his belly. Bold, confident rocking that has Eskel filling so quickly he’s nearly dizzy with it.

Struggling to keep his head up, he gives up and lets it loll back. Only for the thick of his curls to be roughly fisted and yanked up, forced to nearly sitting. His eyes, which he hadn't realized had closed, snapped open, suddenly and fiercely trapped in the gaze of bright, flaming blue.

His stare intense and daring, Jaskier bore his teeth again, “Keep your fucking eyes on me.”

He does get dizzy, that time.

“Yes.” Eskel barely registers the murmuring slipping past parted lips slick with spit. “Yes, sir.” Molden gold stays locked with ocean blue.

Jaskier must like that, as he rocks his hips harder. The hard length of his cock straining against the sheer black mesh of his panties and digging into Eskel rougher than before. It’s embarrassing, almost. His own cock sat ignored in his trousers, untouched and unimportant.

And yet, Jaskier is sat on top of him using the soft padding of his belly to get off. Using his body as if Eskel himself was just an outside spectator. The thought shouldn't have him biting down on his lip to muffle a groan, but it does.

He just barely manages to notice when Jaskier stops his rhythmic grinding. His eyes have gone soft, nails just lightly scraping through the thin fabric of Eskel’s chemise. A slow and thoughtless comfort. “You still with me, darling?” his voice is different from earlier, the hungry deepened edge still present but significantly less demanding. The question is open, an opportunity to answer however Eskel feels.  _ Are you okay? Do you want to keep going? Is this good? _

He has to lick his lips a bit, swallow a few times when his first attempt at responding is met with a croaky edge. Jaskier doesn't comment on it except for the soft smile that threatens to lift the edge of his lips.

“Yes. I’m good. Keep going.” His second attempt is still so rough with arousal he feels the goosebumps that erupt over Jaskier’s skin not covered by the pretty, looping lace.

He expects Jaskier to continue, launch back into rocking against him until his thighs trembled and deep groans turned into high, gasping sighs. He doesn't expect the plush lips that press against his chapped ones.

It’s sweet, because of course it is. Only Jaskier could have someone’s arms in a tight lock above them while his cock drooled over their night clothes and have a kiss feel as soft and innocent as a young maiden picking flowers.

But he does. And the sigh he lets leak out of him is a mixture of want for Jaskier’s skin as much as it is a want for Jaskier’s soul. The kiss isn't particularly deep or long, but Jaskier nips at his bottom lip as he pulls back. His eyes are alight with mirth and a hand leaves his wrists to trace a thumb over the swell of his kiss-bitten lips. He presses one more chaste kiss to the abused flesh. Eskel isn't sure if it's an apology or satisfied pride.

The sweet lavender of their kiss dissipates as cinnamon and cayenne replaces it again. Although the lavender lingers, as it always does with them. 

Jaskier sits up, then, throwing his legs to the side and dismounting Eskel. “Sit up, now, love. Lean back against the wall, there. On your back.”

The order, because that's what it is, an order, has Eskel suppressing a shiver that threatens to shake his frame. He does as is asked of him, settling back against pillows propped over the head of the bed. Jaskier hums in approval when his knees slump open naturally, completely exposed save for the leather trousers that sit uncomfortably tight over his prick.

A light touch brushes over the sensitive bulge, not seeking or expecting--just exploring. Testing.

Jaskier sets to carefully pull his pants down for him, patting Eskel’s hip when he’s needed to lift his rear up a bit. It’s more intimate than it should be. For fucks sake they're just trousers. But the soft kiss Jaskier presses into his bare thigh when his legs are free cracks something open in him that feels strangely vulnerable.

Vulnerable but never afraid. Never uncomfortable. It’s a settled type of exposure, knowing that should he find himself on the wrong side of floaty, Jaskier will be there to catch him and pull him back to safety.

Lute-calloused fingers run up the outside of his spread legs, kind but firm in their rubbing. Massaging the muscles there, tense from days of hard riding from town to town and constant fighting. The hands keep to safe areas in their massaging, never journeying further up towards the soaked, near translucent fabric of Eskel’s plain white breeches. He finds he doesn't mind it much.

Each pass of Jaskier’s palms across his thick, furried thighs has him slip deeper and deeper into that calm, comfortable space. It’s a nice disconnect, mind floating elsewhere for a bit while his lover tends to his body down below. Uses it as he pleases. He drifts so deep it takes a moment for his mind to catch up to the silent request Jaskier had made patting at his hips again. He stares, instead, with unfocused eyes back at him for so long he gets an amused chuckle in return.

“If you insist. Breeches stay on, then. Not a problem for me, big guy.”

Eskel hums a soft assent at that, not quite sure what he's assenting to but confident that Jaskier’s kind, fond tone could never steer him wrong. He’s swaddled in cinnamon and some quiet part of his mind knows this is the safest scent he’s ever known.

Still, it’s with a sharp shock to his system when he feels a warm breath fan over the wet front of his under things. The cold forcing a shiver so strong he feels his skin crawl and nipples pebble.

Jaskier’s next rumbling laugh is cruel. It’s cruel because he’s pressed up against his cock, now, the length so sensitive that the slight, traveling vibrations of that chuckle has him groan and leak.

He can feel Jaskier’s answering grin at that, too.

He must be feeling charitable, deciding Eskel has had enough torturous teasing, because his next move is to reach out with a wet tongue and lap at his cock. He’s not sure if he imagines the weak whine he lets out at that, but at the next soaking lick he’s positive it is.

His breaches are ruined, absolutely soaked through and dripping with both spit and pre-come that feels brisk in the cool room against heated skin. His hips twitch up, seeking out Jaskier’s warmth only to have those gorgeous pale fingers grip roughly at his hip. A warning.

“So- sorry. I’ll behave.” he groans out, barely managing to string together the words for an intelligible response. The weight of Jaskier’s tongue flicking against the underside of his cock through the thin fabric stealing away any semblance of lucid thought. 

His obedience at least wins him something, because Jaskier hums loud and pleased. “Good boy, Esk. My good little Bear.”

It’s the nickname, he's sure. That or the mouth traveling down to his balls and sucking lightly yet the feeling is so intense he feels tears prick in his eyes. Maybe it's the knowledge that Jaskier thinks he’s  _ good _ . Or that Eskel is Jaskier’s. His, and only his.

Regardless of what is at fault, Eskel feels his thighs tense and heat rise, need and want and feverish desperation unraveling far too quickly to do anything but warble out a tearful warning before he’s spilling wet and hot in his under things like a fucking teenager. He’s powerless, completely and utterly weak to do anything but ride out the high, body freezing and bowing back so far his back gives protest and his legs threaten to cramp. He doesn't care, his mind floating even further away at each pulse of seed his prick spurted.

It’s safe, and warm, and he doesn't remember ever being this relaxed. He doubts he even has the strength to hold either of his swords, let alone use them. He figures he doesn't really mind, anyway.

When he finds his way back, its to those deceptively strong hands petting across his soft sides, soothing and anchoring in a way he didn't know he needed. Jaskier is speaking, he realizes. Soft murmuring he can only pick up every other word of, yet. “Yes.. Darling…. So good…… perfect for me…. There you are.”

He finally can shift through the fog enough to find those rare gem coloured eyes seeking his out, humoured and loving. So fucking loving it threatens to choke him.

He sighs, soft and breathless. “Fuck.”

  
Jaskier huffs a laugh at that, “Not quite. Have to see how you're doing first,” his palms, never stopping their petting, settle now over his heaving chest. Blunt nails scraping again. “Colour?”

“Green. Im- Yeah, I’m okay. Seven hells, I need you,” blown pupils search out Jaskier’s, the gold nearly a thin ring around the ,admittedly comically wide, stretch of the once narrow slits, “Please. Please, can I have you?”

Jaskier’s face was frustratingly passive, assessing, even. That sharp gaze roving over the reddened skin of Eskel’s cheeks and chest, the sweat collecting in the divot of his collarbone. “Can you handle it?” It’s not a tease or a goad, not their usual challenging nature to outdo the other. It’s soft and earnest and has Eskel’s mind clearing just that bit more to take a more thorough inventory of himself. It's just as much his responsibility to not stretch himself too far.

He finds his skin is buzzing with energy despite the large expulsion of it with the first orgasm. He feels his need still thrumming under his skin, and especially when a subtle shift of his legs has his knee grazing Jaskier’s own effort. He feels like a live-wire but not uncontrollably so. His prick still ready and thick--thank Melitele for Witcher stamina.

“Yeah. I can take it. Green, sir.”

Jaskier nods, a pleased smile melting away as he slips back into his role. Eyes hardening and calculating again, picking him apart without so much as a touch. It’s a perfectly practiced transition as easy as breathing. Everything is, with them.

“You came without permission.” A fact. A statement. As damning as it gets.

“Yes, sir.”

“I can’t let you get away with that.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jaskier scowls, “Wait here. Take your shirt off. Move a fucking muscle otherwise and I’ll leave you outside in the cold with your prick wet and freezing.”

Eskel whimpers at that, high and keening. He’s fucked. Absolutely fucking twisted. Because the thought of Jaskier kicking him out of their room to sit outside, ignored, hard and half naked in cum-soaked underwear has his cock fattening up again, twitching with interest against his thigh.

It doesn’t miss Jaskier’s sharp eyes.

He sniffs in indignation, choosing not to react and instead slide off of their bed to pad across the room to retrieve what he needed. His absence leaves Eskel cold where they were pressed together, an aching want that grows every moment Jaskier’s skin isn’t touching his.

He must let out a whine, because Jaskier calls out to him softly, placatingly. “Be a good boy and wait. Do as I said.”

He’s eager to please. To show he is and can be a good boy for Jaskier. For sir. So he yanks his chamise over his head and throws it somewhere in the direction of the desk. Laying back against the wall again, Eskel sat still and easily slotted back into that warm hazy fog. Time settles differently, there, and so it doesn't take too long before that familiar, comforting warmth is back. Smooth, unmarred skin stretching into view--Jaskier must have stripped before flitting back to bed.

Jaskier is holding something up at him, and before he can really even really  _ look  _ at it, the glint of metal clips and thin silver chains has his nipples hardening further by pure conditioning. Jaskier laughs at him, reaching down toward his chest to flick roughly at one of the buds--drawing a desperate wail from him and leaving it pink.

“Look at my little Bear. Such a slut to have his tits played with, hm? Is that what you want, darling?” He reaches out and snaches Eskel’s chin in a bruisingly rough grip, pulling his face closer, “Want me to clip this on you and pull you around like a bitch on a leash?”

Eskel nearly goes feral in begging for it, “Please. Ah- please sir I need it. I need it so fucking bad. Yours.” His hips twitch without his permission and he wants to cry he feels so helpless. He can only rely on Jaskier’s charity, then. Completely and utterly at his mercy.

A loud, stinging slap lands on his thigh, stilling him instantly. “You stop that. I don’t give a fuck how bad you need it. You broke the rules, and so your want is irrelevant. Keep your hands above your head and keep them there unless I say otherwise. Understood?”

A whimper. A choked sob, “Yes, sir, yes.”

Jaskier crawled his way onto Eskel’s thighs again, sitting further up so that the hard length of his prick brushed against the line of Jaskier’s crack. And, oh.

_ Oh. _

He was slick, there. The undeniable slide of sunflower oil that he loves to use to open either himself of Eskel.

A hard, bruising bite to his own lip was all that prevented him from losing control again.

Jaskier reached up toward his hands, and Eskel realized with a start that the lingerie, the lingerie  _ Eskel _ bought for him, was being tied around his wrists.

“Better not move those hands, darling. I’d bet my left nut it was no cheap purchase.”

Once he’d positioned himself exactly how  _ he _ wanted to be, the bard snapped the clips onto his chest, each rough clamp over rose pink nipples had him twitching, shoulders and cock alike.

Jaskier held the thin, delicate chain in one fist, pulling taut but not yanking. The other hand settled behind him to take a firm grasp on the base of Eskel’s prick, settling the head at his hole.

He paused, though, before going any further. Instead he gave the chain a quick, sharp tug to gain Eskel’s attention from the bobbing erection just inches from his face making hazy eyes flick up. Even the sight of Jaskier himself had Eskel harder than he thought scientifically possible, his lips red and bitten, eyes firm and in control. Even his shoulders, gods above those shoulders, had Eskel ready to get on his knees and lay prayer.

“Don’t look away, you hear? You look at me, Bear, and nothing else.”

Eskel couldn’t speak, throat dry. He only hoped the frantic nodding was enough. And thankfully, with a jerk of a chin from his mate, it was.

Jaskier moved again, presumably to redjust Eskel’s cock again, but he didn’t move his eyes from Jaskier’s gorgeous face. His brows pinched then, furrowing as he felt the head of his cock slowly breaching until it popped in with a hitched gasp from both of them.

Jaskier smirked, eyes flicking up to his. “Good boy, Eskel. Just keep your eyes on me, now. Good boy.”

Eskel preened at the praise and he’s sure it showed. He didn’t mind much. Jaskier continued further down, this time his bottom lip pulled and worried between his teeth as he worked.

He slid, slowly bouncing and working his cock in little by little drawing needy whines from Eskel each time he clenched, shifted, or even so much as  _ looked  _ at him. His skin was on fire, the need bubbling but it wasn't enough. Not yet. Jaskier’s plump ass set against his thighs and he was fully inside, taking a moment to swivel his hips, throwing his head back and groaning from deep in his chest.

It was heaven.

It was hell.

But most of all it set a fire in both of them that snapped their resolve in two. Jaskier shifted on his knees before lifting and shoving himself back down again, ripping a groan out from the both of them. The near violent bounce had Eskel’s tits and tummy bouncing in time with each punishing up and down of Jaskier’s hips.

Eskel feels about ready to come again, the tight hold of Jaskier’s ass on his cock much too tight. The sensation balancing on more pain than pleasure. Too wet. Too slick.  _ Too much. _

But he’s forced to take it, forced to take everything Jaskier gives him and more and not allowed a drop of pleasure. This isn’t for him. He’s broken the rules.

This, Jaskier rising from and dropping onto his dripping, leaking prick is for Jaskier alone. He was only the necessary piece to help him achieve that. A toy meant to help sir get off. He was ordered to look only at Jaskier, but he himself wouldn’t even set eyes on Eskel. Eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

It set Eskel’s blood on fire.

Jaskier was gasping now, the chain tightly fisted and tugging roughly with each bounce on his cock. Each drop of his hips echoing the sounds of sweat-soaked skin and desperate cries and wails. From Jaskier or himself—Eskel didn’t know.

“Please,” he gasped out, breathless and twitchy, “Please let me come. I need to come.”

A growl and snapping of teeth, “No!”

Jaskier lent back more, arching his back and shifting to find better purchase to fuck himself down harder. A micromovement, a lean just a bit further back and Jaskier’s eyes blew open and a loud startled moan bounced off the walls of their small room. He was trembling now, legs twitching and chest heaving.

The movement backward pulled intensely at the clips and Eskel nearly came at the feeling. His tits were red, swollen and the pain nearly outplayed the pleasure. He was openly sobbing, begging, screaming in a horse, broken voice to be allowed to come.

Fat, salty tears rolled down his cheeks freely, hiccupping wails failing to form proper words. “Pl…ah- si… ‘ask… ease. Gods…” Even Jaskier didn’t seem fully in control, endless overwhelmed wines cried up at the ceiling as he rode Eskel within an inch of his life.

With gulping breaths Jaskier sat up a bit straighter, but kept himself positioned so every thrust still hit that spot perfectly. He locked eyes with Eskel, for the first time since taking him inside, and whispered so quietly it was lost in the huffs and groaning and slapping of skin. But Eskel knew, he knew Jaskier like the back of his hand.

And so he came, arms obediently held above him, as Jaskier slammed himself down once more and yanked one last time at the chain so hard the clips dislodged. His love’s cock, pretty and red shot out rope after rope of thick, milky come all across Eskel’s soft belly and abused tits. Everything floated away, like sand grains falling through your fingers, and Eskel let the soft comforting scent of cinnamon-cayenne take him away as his eyes slid shut.

———————————

Eskel was slow coming to, mind still a bit foggy. He was lucid enough to take inventory of himself, though. He felt the pleasant soreness of his thighs and arms, the reassuring bite of bruises around his wrists settling, and the soft brushing of something wet along his stomach. Peeking an eye open, the room now basked in a stronger glow of light from… the fireplace that he hadn’t even noticed their room  _ had _ . They were pretty busy last night, though.

“Morning, little Bear,” Jaskier murmured softly from where he was carefully cleaning him off with a damp rag, “You did so well. Were so good for me, daring.” The soft, lilting of his cooing praise soothed Eskel even further than the soft touch and warmth of the room.

He hummed quietly, flashing a content smile at his bard as he stood and put the rag away.

“I’ve got a bit of fruit here for you, honey. Come on, let’s get you dressed and we can go down to the kitchens and ransack the pantries for all they’re worth.”

Jaskier held out the platter of fruits to him, Eskel took a date and nibbled on it as he found a clean pair of clothing for him and lovingly dressed him. A soft cotton shirt, and one of Eskel’s comfiest night pants. It was calming, letting Jaskier carefully put him back together after so thoroughly taking him apart.

Once he was modest enough to go downstairs, Jaskier dressed quickly and wiped himself down as well. With the both of them freshly clean and happy, the room absolutely soaked in the smell of honeyed lavender, Jaskier leant down to where Eskel sat at the edge of the bed and cupped his face between those beautiful fingers. Those blue eyes were wide and the depth of their love shone so brightly it nearly rattled the already sensitive Witcher.

Jaskier’s thumb brushed lovingly over his cheekbone, and he pushed closer to press a sweet kiss of absolute adoration and devotion to his lips. The kiss was a reassurance, a comfort. It was a devotion and a promise. One that Eskel could easily reciprocate.

“Come now,” Jaskier said when they parted, “I saw a bottle of rum downstairs that is just  _ calling  _ my name.”

“Every bottle calls your name,” he joked back and got a gentle shove in return.

Yeah. He loved this man. And he couldn’t imagine life without his dandelion.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this smut that ended up entirely more fluffy than planned. I wrote it instead of sleeping :)  
> Comments and Kudos are my life blood pls Validate me <3
> 
> Also if you’re 18+ (Which you should be if you’re reading this...?) go follow my twitter @SimpingBard for more Eskel Simpage!


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